Ghost
by fraisei
Summary: Ivy Bennett was having a lousy day, then she nearly kills Hydra's most powerful weapon, Bucky Barnes. As Ivy's reality comes crashing down around her feet, she may need to learn how to trust her ghost; after all, the fate of the world may be resting in the hands of a twenty-seven year old S.H.I.E.L.D. receptionist. Bucky/OC, post Winter Soldier.
1. Helicarrier

Ivy Bennett was generally an honest girl. She was honest on the first day of second grade, when Eloise Lekrillane called her new and polished shoes "the most_ ugliest_ thing I ever saw!" She was honest with her twin brother, Oliver, when he tried to ask out Eloise Lekrillane in freshman year and nearly got called a "weirdo with the most _ugliest _hairdo I ever saw!" She was also very, very honest when she expressed her dislike about her name to her father, who said that just because Eloise Lekrillane said her name was the "most _ugliest _name I ever saw!", it was too late to change it now (this was one of the reasons Ivy decided to go into law).

However, it didn't matter how many times she heard Eloise Lekrillane use bad grammar, or how many times she had to smack Oliver upside the head, or how many times she "woe-is-me"'d over the fact that she was named after a poisonous plant that could bring upon an unfortunate person some very unpleasant circumstances. It didn't even matter that she found law school to be one of the worst experiences she'd ever encountered, so she dropped out and went to live in D.C., effectively rendering her jobless and left to work as a part-time receptionist for some shady agency called S.H.I.E.L.D. Frankly, she didn't even know what field they specialized in, but she felt somewhat content in assuming that they sold weight-loss pills.

Honesty wouldn't really help her out if she was dead.

Currently, her biggest issue was that her office had just had a plane wing torn right through it, and that a giant helicopter detonated outside. She wasn't even watching all of this happen; it was her day off, and all she wanted was ice cream, but of course life wasn't that easy. Before she knew it, her job went up in flames and her Twitter was exploding with the tag "S.H.I.E.L.D." Apparently they _didn't _sell weight loss pills.

Ivy cursed and glared at the waiter, who was late in arriving with her food. She picked up her plate, grabbed a takeout box, and ran for her life, being a bit too lax about everything considering the situation at hand.

She ran to her car and drove away, passing the National Archives, the Smithsonian, and the White House.

She wondered what the president thought of all this.

With a snicker, she kept driving and looked through her rearview mirror. Well, the plane really _was _exploding. This wasn't just some crazy dream. She bit her bottom lip and furrowed her brow, concerned with the people left behind. She suddenly found herself regretting not going back and helping everyone.

The panic was now starting to set in; Ivy was jobless! Again! She was jobless now, and all those people were homeless, and what if there was another blast? What if the president sitting there in the Oval Office ended up caught in the aftershock, and there was no more leader for the country, and Europe invaded, and America turned into an anarchy, and Captain America and Iron Man and Bruce Banner and Thor all died too, and then _that guy with the green cape decided to take over like he wanted to in New York_?!

Ivy quickly plucked her inhaler out of her purse and stuffed it into her mouth, thirstily gasping as she reminded herself to calm down.

Screw hyperventilation.

She put her inhaler back into her purse. Well, she tried to, and unfortunately, her insistence on keeping her eyes on the road led to a chain of events which could have been considered unfortunate (for Ivy, anyway— for the metal-armed man in the middle of the road? Not so much).

First, Ivy furrowed her brows as she tried to locate the opening of her purse.

Second, she became frustrated and turned to look at her purse (which, lo and behold, was actually zipped).

Third, after she finally got her inhaler into the stupid thing, she looked back up to see a gleam of metal and a pair of half-dead eyes.

Fourth, she shrieked like a banshee as her mind registered that the metal thing in the middle of the road was a person, and she was about to hit him.

She slammed on the brakes, praying to every higher power that there was no one behind her and that she stopped in time. Fortunately, she did, and the man's arms were now resting on the hood of her car, the fingers on his left arm making a deep indentation on the top.

Ivy's first thought was Iron Man. After all, who else could be made of metal? Maybe he'd just lost the rest of his suit.

But no; this man certainly wasn't Tony Stark. Almost as handsome, Ivy supposed, but still not Stark, because she'd actually met the man on a few occasions, could even be considered his friend— she _did _work for S.H.I.E.L.D., after all— and his eyes had never been this hopeless.

Ivy stared in shock. She wasn't sure people like this metal guy were even allowed in D.C. as she drank in his appearance. His face, covered with bruises and cuts and dirt and pain, so much pain, was vaguely familiar, and his tall, imposing figure donned a suit that most _certainly _didn't belong in the nation's capitol.

Ivy knew it was bad to judge on appearances, but for one of the first times in her life, she didn't feel angry. She didn't feel confused. She didn't feel startled. She didn't feel happy, or sad, or annoyed.

She felt terrified.

She'd never known she'd had a phobia. Not until she'd looked into the eyes of a ghost.

* * *

The ghost had run.

After centuries of staring at those hollow, haunting eyes, he pulled his arms out of Ivy's car and ran.

Petrified, Ivy stared at where his form had been. She hadn't even realized how long she'd stayed shaken at the steering wheel until a woman tapped on her window.

"Are you alright, miss?" she asked politely as her children danced around her legs. "You seem quite frazzled, and there's a dent in your car."

Ivy choked on her words. No, she wasn't alright, and she doubted she'd be again. Not unless she started sleeping with her eyes open and her lights on.

She gulped and managed to nod with a strangled, "Yes."

The woman nodded back, and kept walking with her children.

Ivy put her head in her hands, feeling dizzy and taking time to catch her breath. She reached for her inhaler again but didn't even bother using it. She looked left and right, then made the long drive back home.

* * *

The first thing she did was pull all the blinds shut, lock the doors, and bar them all with chairs. She then whipped out a large bucket of ice cream and slipped a Spongebob Squarepants DVD into her PS3 and sat herself down in front of the television. After watching for a while, she heard a knock.

"Oliver," she muttered. She had been expecting her brother and forgotten about his arrival through all the excitement. Smoothing out her tank top and pajama shorts, she went to open the door.

It was not Oliver on the other side.

Ivy slammed the door shut and held a hand over heart, which was now beating wildly. She took deep breaths, and opened the door to greet the ghost.

* * *

**Work in progress. Again. I am so, so, so, so, so sorry! My muse has been thinking on this one ever since I saw CA:TWS, and things sorta spiraled. Sorry again! I'm having writer's block with TMwaB and TJtI, but I'm doing alright with Cat Roux. I just need to make that one longer.**

**Once again, really sorry!**


	2. Oliver

**Just a quick reminder not to expect any insta-romance from me. It's not my style.**

**I only own Ivy Bennett and the other OCs.**

* * *

_Breathe in. Breathe out._

"What are you doing here?" Ivy asked, her voice hollow. He peered up at her through his curtain of dark hair.

"I had nowhere to go."

"How did you get here?"

"Your car."

"You mean to tell me you were fast enough to chase my car?"

"No."

"Then_ how did you get here_?"

"I climbed into the backseat."

Ivy paused. That was completely possible; she drove a Volkswagen Beetle, and she'd had the top down when she'd had her encounter with the ghost.

_Breathe in. Breathe out._

"Why come to me? I'll bet you have friends," she said, shifting uncomfortably.

"I technically don't."

Silence, then Ivy spoke. "And...?"

"And you're the first person I've seen today who's seemed vaguely calm about my appearance."

In truth, she _wasn't _calm, at least not on the inside. She had been screaming and burning down buildings in her mind.

"What makes you think I'd let you stay?" she inquired.

"Because I'd be inclined to shoot you if you don't."

Ivy paled and felt like she was about to collapse. Oliver would be here any second, and there was a man on her doorstep threatening to kill her. Her mind shut down, and one shaking hand slowly reached for the phone on the table behind the door. Her eyes flickered towards the small keys, her slender finger hovering over the nine.

_Breathe in—_

"Don't even think about calling anyone. I've dealt with that more than enough times, and you couldn't fight me off on your own," he growled softly. "Will you let me stay?"

With a gulp, Ivy stepped aside and beckoned him in.

_Breathe out_.

* * *

He said to call him Bucky. He didn't sound so sure.

"Bucky, I suppose," he had said. "That's what he called me."

A normal name for a ghost, Ivy reckoned, but as she made him soup, she had one hand white-knuckling a knife. His eyes held fast to that hand, his metal fingers brushing against his own dagger absentmindedly. She didn't know why he didn't just kill her now, but she certainly wasn't complaining.

Shaking, she slid the bowl of soup to the ghost, who sniffed it and prodded at it. After various inspections, he took a sip, and before long, the bowl was back at the pot and ready for a refill.

_Why didn't you poison him, stupid girl? _She admonished herself as she scrutinized the ghost through dead, green cat-eyes.

_Because I don't have poison, that's why. Now go away._

"I feel kinda bad for you, but—" Ivy stopped as his hand moved from the dagger to the gun. Apparently he didn't make empty promises. "—I'll give you money to stay at a hotel, but that's it. Food, money, maybe some of my brother's clothes when he gets here, but no more."

"I don't want to stay at a hotel," he said, narrowing his eyes.

"What, like you wanna stay here?"

"Not necessarily."

"Hotel it is."

"But I don't want a hotel, either."

"And why not?"

"More people. They like to snoop."

Ivy rolled her eyes. This ghost was getting to be more trouble than he was worth (as if he wasn't trouble from the start). She wanted to tell him he couldn't stay, but she didn't exactly want a bullet in her temple. She should have just stayed at her exploding office.

Turning on the news, she nabbed a piece of celery from the clam chowder she'd passed the ghost.

"—left on the beach, shield missing and covered in multiple—"

"—and a tragic day—"

"—but why hide S.H.I.E.L.D.? Are Americans really safe with—"

"Can you believe this crap?" Ivy muttered. "I always thought they sold weight-loss pills."

Silence.

"—witnesses say—"

"—leaving the scene. This man is armed and dangerous and should be reported immediately—"

"—five foot eleven male in his late twenties or early thirties, and had a bionic arm—"

Ivy choked on her celery and turned to stare at the ghost, wide-eyed and terrified. He sighed.

"Relax."

"How?" Ivy squawked. "You almost killed Captain America!"

"Steve," he said, clearing his throat almost awkwardly. Almost humanly. "I'm very sure his name is Steve. I knew him."

_Breathe in._

"Please just let me stay."

_Breathe out._

"Okay, I guess."

_Breathe in—_

"Thank you."

_Breathe out._

* * *

Ivy paced in a panic, holding her inhaler to her lips. Her hair was a mess, her eyes were wild, and the ghost sat on the couch still as a statue as his eyes followed her back and forth across the living room.

"Where is he?" she shrieked a high note, nearly hyperventilating. The last thing she needed was a panic attack.

"Where is who?" he asked almost politely.

"My brother, Oliver. He was supposed to stay."

"Oh?" he asked, narrowing his eyes.

"Don't give me that tone. I'd have sent him away, but _why hasn't he called_?"

"Why don't you call him first?"

Ivy stopped pacing and turned to sneer at the ghost so bitterly that even he winced (only a bit).

"Yes, because I _certainly _haven't thought of that."

With that, she continued pacing, as the ghost furrowed his eyebrows and looked away.

"You say that, but I haven't seen you pick up the phone once."

"Oh, really? 'And don't even think about calling anyone, or else I'll kill you,'" Ivy said in a mocking tone. In truth, she felt somewhat bad about treating the ghost like this, and she knew taking her frustration out on him was harsh. Still, he was the unwanted one in this household.

The ghost sighed.

"I'm not that cruel."

"Could have fooled me."

Without warning, he tossed the phone at her, hitting her squarely in the temple.

"Ow!" she yelped, raising her hand to the violated spot.

"I'm sorry, are you alright?" Bucky asked, a concerned look crossing his face, then turning to one of confusion. He pursed his lips and frowned, staring at the wall like he was wondering why he had just asked this expendable girl about her well-being and why he had apologized.

Ivy coughed nervously— this was the most human she'd seen him since his arrival.

"Yeah, I'm fine, thanks."

She stooped to pick up the phone and dialed Oliver's number, placing her hand on her forehead and rubbing her temples as she felt the ghost's eyes scrutinize her every move, making sure she didn't dial nine-one-one.

"Ivy! Ive, you alright? You nearly gave me a heart attack! Ivy? Ivy?"

"Oliver!" Ivy nearly collapsed from relief, and an instinct told her that her brother did the same. Instead, she sat on the couch adjacent to the ghost, biting her lip as she tried to keep calm. "Where are you? You said eight, Oliver! It's past eleven!"

"Well, sorry a huge whatever that was crashed into your office building! All the planes were grounded. How was I supposed to get to you?"

Ivy took a gulp from her inhaler.

"And you couldn't have called?"

"I have about a million times; it's your fault you didn't answer."

"Right. You're not coming?"

"What, you want me to drive there from Russia?" Oliver asked. Ivy could imagine his wry smirk on the other end of the line.

"Shut up."

"Love you too, sis."

Ivy gulped.

"Miss you."

"And you think I don't miss you?"

Ivy was about to retort when angry Russian shouting lit up the earpiece.

"I gotta go, Ivy. Stay safe," Oliver shouted desperately into the phone before hanging up.

Ivy swallowed the lump in her throat and looked at the ghost.

"My brother's not coming, so I guess that means you're stuck in that abomination until tomorrow," Ivy said to him.

"Abomination?"

"Yes. That looks deadly uncomfortable. I can't imagine it with guns strapped all over you."

"Hm."

Ivy had had the ghost unload his weapons (all but a gun and a knife, since he'd insisted) into the cupboard under the kitchen sink, making sure they were hidden in case somebody decided to stop by.

"Sorry, but you have to sleep in that," she said, getting up and jutting her index finger at his outfit. She headed to a closet and produced a pillow and a blanket that was much too small for him. "Sorry," she said. "But it's the best I can do."

"Thank you," Bucky said.

* * *

Ivy was curled up on her bed, her petite form nested in a cocoon of blankets.

She craned her neck to look at her door's lock one more time.

* * *

**I suppose I should add Ivy Bennett and Oliver to the list of my OCs. **

**Reviews keep me going, so review, please!**


	3. SHIELD

**Please read author's note at bottom.**

* * *

The sun wasn't even up when Ivy went down to the superstore.

She had woken and gotten dressed in white shorts, a mint green blouse, and a pair of wedges before she hopped into her car and had driven down to the nearest clothing retailer. The ghost seemed to be a large or medium, so she bought three cotton t-shirts and sweaters and pants and threw the bag onto the table beside the ghost. It was quite the funny sight, seeing him curled up under the small, pink sherpa blanket, one hand nestled under his pillow. The entire scene seemed quite innocent.

Ivy tilted her head, her candy pink lips puckering in confusion. Where was his dagger?

She lifted his pillow.

Oh. Not too innocent anymore.

She bit her lip and turned to the kitchen to make breakfast. What, exactly, did he want to eat? Did ghosts (Ivy, despite every instinct in her body screaming at her that he wasn't a ghost, was satisfied with the lie that he was) even _need _to eat? Maybe he was just eating yesterday as an indulgence.

She settled for cereal and milk, and decided to give him eggs if he decided he felt like it.

Ivy bit her lip as she turned on the TV to finish the Spongebob episode; she hadn't had a chance to do so last night. She sat with her legs crossed on the floor, trying to ignore the fact that the ghost was snoozing right next to her with a dagger under his head and corn flakes on the table.

"Just _what _is that noise?" A sleepy voice grumbled beside Ivy, and a surprised squeak slipped past her lips as she turned to look into the ghost's glaring blue eyes.

"Uh... Spongebob's laughing," Ivy offered weakly. He responded with a lazy smirk, that, once again, made him look human.

"Want food?"

"I don't know," he responded simply. "Do I need food?"

"Way to be straightforward, Master Oogway," Ivy muttered as Bucky's eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

"What, you don't get it? Everybody's seen Kung Fu Panda."

Once again, the ghost's only response was silence, so Ivy simply sighed and swung her legs around to stand and get him his cereal.

"Here," she said, all but shoving the bowl and spoon into his waiting hands, and he started eating slowly, eyes trained on the TV. He looked like he was about to ask a question, but decided against it.

"What?" Ivy asked, picking a Cheerio out of his bowl. He looked down at her hand.

"Do you always have a tendency to steal food?" he asked.

"Rude," Ivy replied although it was true. He smiled stiffly.

The ghost was lifting the spoon to his mouth when the doorbell rang. Ivy looked at her companion quizzically and quickly hopped out of her seated position to answer.

"Miss Bennett?" the well-dressed man at the door asked formally.

"Yeah. Why?"

"I'm Special Agent Gregory Toole, and I have reports from your neighbor who claims you may have leads on Captain America's attacker. May I please have a look around?

Ivy froze. Why, oh, why did she always end up stuck in these situations with shady guys on her doorstep and insisting they enter her house without her consent?

Giggling in the most ditzy manner possible, Ivy leaned against the doorframe seductively (that is, she prayed she didn't look like a hyena with heat stroke) and batted her lashes over half-lidded eyes.

"Oh, so you want to look around, hm?" she asked girlishly.

Special Agent Gregory Toole obviously caught her flirty undertone because he shifted uncomfortably and poked at his shirt collar as he cleared his throat.

"Er, yes, Miss Bennett. You see, it's imperative that we-"

"You know, Mr. Special Agent Gregory - can I call you Greg?" Ivy said as she lifted her voice on the words 'special agent', "with all this S.H.I.E.L.D. business going around, I haven't been able to look for the metal armed guy." She lifted her voice again at 'look for the metal armed guy'. Fortunately, the ghost seemed to get the picture because she heard scampering up the stairs.

"What was that?"

"Just my dog," Ivy lied smoothly. She twirled her hair around her finger. "But I promise he won't disturb-"

"I believe I need to go now, Miss Bennett," he said abruptly, face reddened. "Thank you for your time."

With that, he scurried away as Ivy's smiled dropped, and she slammed the door.

"Go!" she yelled up the stairs as she leaped to her room.

"What is it?" Bucky asked.

"He'll probably be back with a female agent, and the S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters aren't that far away. We need to run while we can." Ivy threw her clothes into a suitcase. "Did you take the clothes I bought you out of the plastic bags?"

"No," he said hurriedly. "Wait, we? You're coming?"

Ivy paused. "Yeah. Yeah, I guess I am."

"But why?"

"I work for S.H.I.E.L.D., my friend."

"Up until yesterday, you thought they sold weight-loss pills."

"Nuances. They were still super creepy back then, and they definitely wouldn't hesitate to take me in for questioning if they find me still here."

"Nobody saw you with me."

"That lady did. Her kids did. Anyone looking out their window did. Besides, you'll need my help."

"How?"

"Eh, we'll figure it out later."

Silence again.

With a huff, Ivy bounded downstairs and threw their bags into her car. "Hurry up!"

"Where are my weapons?"

Ivy cursed under her breath as she hopped over the car door and into the kitchen. She kicked open the locked cabinet and fished his knives, guns, and his "What the crap is that?!" out and deposited them into his waiting hands.

The pair climbed into the front seat as Ivy started it up and tried to pull the top up.

"We don't have time," the ghost barked. "Let's go!"

"Well, the thing's not starting!" Ivy growled as she smacked the steering wheel and the gas pedal.

"Just let me drive!"

"You? You're like, ninety!"

The garage went quiet until Ivy spoke up again.

"Yeah, that's right. I looked you up last night, James Buchanan Barnes. I knew you looked familiar. You're Oliver's favorite section in the Captain America exhibit."

"James Buchanan Barnes?"

"Um... yes?" Ivy felt all her bravado melting away. Maybe he wasn't James Buchanan Barnes.

"That's what he called me," Bucky said, eyebrows furrowed and head tilted.

"Huh?"

"The man on the plane."

Ivy stared.

"I'm driving, like it or not."

He was about to respond with what better have been an "okay" when a slamming car door crushed the words in his throat.

"Go."

Ivy didn't need to be told twice. She slammed the gas and sped out of her driveway.

"Hey!" Special Agent Gregory Toole yelled as the car missed him by just a few inches. "She's got him! Carol, follow that car!"

"Where, exactly, are we going?"

"Hydra's lead base," the ghost said, looking behind him.

"Whoa, wait, what?"

"Hold this," he said, shoving all his weapons but one gun into Ivy's lap. With two clean shots, he took out the front two wheels of Gregory and Carol's car and sent the car up in flames and an abrupt halt.

"Holy crap!" Ivy shrieked. "Wait, we're going to Hydra, but you just took out two agents who are chasing us; whose side are you on?"

The ghost tucked the gun back into it's holster with a scowl.

"My own."

* * *

**And I sing "Hallelujah!" I've finished the chapter!**

**Okay. So, I'm on vacation in palace where there's no wifi. I'll update when I find any, but updates will probably be slow for the next month or two.**

**Also, I've mentioned this on my other stories, and I may have already done so on this one, but you can use my OCs if you like. There's a complete list on my profile, and Ivy and Oliver are already on there.**

**Lastly, the inconsistency with ghost/Bucky is intentional. I'm sure you smarties can figure out why. With the right observation skills, it isn't that hard.**

**Thanks for reading, and please review!**


	4. Hostage

Oliver knew he was quite screwed.

Like his sister, he was rather realistic (although not nearly as flighty), and he was never one to lie to himself. He didn't want to tell himself that he could possibly make it out of this particular situation alive; what a shame he never got to see Ivy again.

His tired eyes lifted to the family adjacent to his own spot on the floor. They gazed back, asking him to help.

The brother, no older than eighteen, cradled his little sister in his arms as he lifted an inhaler to her mouth.

A pang of longing hit him like a bolt of lightning. His own sister had asthma, too.

He, this family, a young woman, and a quite effeminate young man of his age had been stuck for no more than eight hours in a small, cramped cell when insane Russian men decided to run up and kidnap him.

Impressed as he was at how easily, efficiently, and discreetly they had done it, Oliver was extremely ticked off and had been in the midst of slamming his head against his cell wall (he laughed inwardly at his science pun) when his captors shoved rather violently inside a flame-haired woman, makeup-laden tears streaming down her face as she quickly stood back up, screaming and pounding on the closing door.

Nearly three hours later, the young man had been forced in next. By this point, the woman was rocking herself in shock and Oliver was busying himself by cornering a beetle with the toe of his running shoes. Oliver and the woman distantly registered the slamming of the door as their new companion fell, limp as a rag doll, to the stone floor.

The family was the last to arrive. The father automatically pushed his wife and children behind himself as he held an outstretched arm in defense against their jailers. Once the door closed, he ran to his wife, a woman with dull, obviously dyed blonde hair, then to his son and daughter, both of who obviously took after their mother in looks (although their hair boasted a much more golden color).

Oliver was currently the most calm about their little dilemma (another trait he shared with Ivy), which had started to worry his fellow hostages. In truth, he was scared to death, but in spite of himself, couldn't bring himself to worry too much. He had a feeling that sooner or later, Ivy's nagging little instinct would tell her that something was wrong with him, and she would enlist help to find him.

* * *

"They have the twins and an Infinity Gem," the ghost said simply.

Ivy let out a noncommittal sound. Sure, she was glad he was finally speaking more, but...

"I have no idea what you're talking about," she deadpanned.

"Naturally," Bucky replied. Ivy arched an eyebrow.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You just proved my point."

"Aren't you _not _supposed to be sassy?"

The ghost sighed.

"The twins are deadly, but then there are the Infinity Gems. Together, they can activate the Infinity Gauntlet, which would be even worse than if your Avengers decided to turn on you."

"And _how _do you know this?"

"Observation. You remember New York?"

Ivy stiffened. "Yes."

"That was just one stone. Imagine six."

"Damn, we're screwed."

Bucky chuckled. "I suppose, but I've decided to help you and your friends."

"I've only met like, two Avengers, you know."

"You're still S.H.I.E.L.D., despite the-"

"Don't even bring up the weight-loss pills!" Ivy groaned.

He glanced over at her, looking on the border between amused and annoyed.

"So, _Bucky_," Ivy said, emphasizing 'Bucky' with exaggerated cordiality. "Where we headed? You said Hydra base, but it's not like I keep tabs on the whereabouts of secret underground terrorist facilities.

"Russia."

Ivy slammed on the brakes, nearly causing herself and her companion to lurch forward and through the windshield of her tiny little Volkswagen.

"_Excuse me_?!"

"Russia."

"No, no, I heard you just fine. Here's money for a cab, my friend. Adios, sayonara, bon voyage, the like. Oh, what a shame we couldn't have spent more time together, but hey! That's life. C'est la vie!"

"You've had enough?'

"Duh! I'm not going to—"

Russia. _Oliver was in Russia._

Although Ivy knew his flight was grounded, she knew something was terribly wrong. Of course, there was no surefire way to tell but her instinct, and Ivy _always _trusted her instinct. Especially when it came down to her twin brother.

Gritting her teeth and refusing to let the ghost see her panic, she cut off immediately and stepped on the brakes to the airport.

"Okay, then. How are we gonna get your weapons through airport security? Not to mention the fact that _all _the flights will be either cancelled or delayed. Then we've gotta get your _arm _through security, too, and after that, we're going to have to figure out a way to get to your Hydra base without any means of transportation. There's a little issue with money, too. As you can see, I'm not exactly doing too hot as far as preparation of Russian cash goes."

"Take me to S.H.I.E.L.D."

Ivy glanced over irritably. "S.H.I.E.L.D.?"

"Yes."

"What about Hydra?"

"To get to Hydra, we need S.H.I.E.L.D."

"Uh..."

"Do you still have clearance to their security systems?"

Realization dawned on Ivy. "Well, yes. But a receptionist isn't exactly too high up on the list of people allowed in on government-level projects."

"You'd be surprised how much access a receptionist has."

"Okay, and _you'd _be surprised at how difficult it is to make your way through to a building which just had a plane crashed through it."

"I don't need to."

"What?"

"You do."

* * *

Oliver accidentally squashed the beetle.

With a heavy sigh, he shoved it aside with his shoe. His only source of entertainment was gone. He'd have to resort to screwing around with the buttons on his watch. He poked and prodded at it, praying he didn't end up resetting it; it was the only way he could keep time.

The others constantly asked him, sometimes within the same minute. In the interest of keeping their spirits up, Oliver only responded in hours how long had passed since they'd been captured, always rounding up if he got the chance.

Sometimes he thought about what would happen to Ivy if he was gone. Sure, she was her own separate human being, but the self-centered part of Oliver told him that she would slip into a catatonic state of depression, and he imagined his lively, witty sister with her star of a soul crushed, nonexistent. Dead.

He preferred not to imagine.

* * *

**Okay, I found wifi. Sorry about the plot twist and the excess Oliver in this story. I personally think he's pretty cool.**

**Review, please!**


	5. Katya and the Brookers

Ivy twisted her hair into a high ponytail.

"This is the most ridiculous thing I've ever done," she called. No reply. Either he didn't hear her, or he was sulking about again.

She stepped out of the park bathroom and into the sunlight, where the ghost was sitting on a park bench and glaring at passersby. She trotted up to him and sat down beside him as he offered to her one of his small, sharp daggers.

Ivy jumped. "Are you insane?" she hissed.

"Protection."

"I've got Mace in my purse!

"Mace only stalls. A knife can kill."

"Yeah. That's why I don't want it."

Ivy grumbled.

"Just take the knife."

"I'll cut myself on it."

Wordlessly, the ghost slipped it into its pouch and into her hand. "Take it."

Ivy gingerly tucked it into her back pocket.

"I'll cause a diversion," he said.

Ivy and the ghost left the park and stood by what was left of S.H.I.E.L.D., and Ivy walked around the perimeter of the fences the police set up and pushed through the throng until she found a spot which was open enough for her to enter. She made eye contact with the ghost, and he nodded firmly. She took a deep breath and waited for the diversion.

"Everybody run for your lives!" the ghost yelled, firing a couple of blanks into the mob. Crowd psychology. Impressive.

And with that, Ivy had her diversion, and she went hurtling into the building. She smacked at the window with a chunk of cement until it broke and climbed into the building. Outside, the masses were still in such a panic that Ivy had to give kudos not only to the ghost, but to S.H.I.E.L.D.; there was only minimal damage to the ground floor. Enough so that Ivy ended up being able to clamber over to a computer and log in.

Her profile picture popped up on the computer.

"Okie dokie," she said, wriggling her fingers as she tried to convince herself that she knew what she was doing._  
_

She started typing, and miraculously, she was able to open the bay doors.

Ivy bounded back outside and found the ghost sitting impatiently on a cement block as the crowd behind him screamed and ran for their lives. He jumped to his feet once he caught sight of Ivy.

"You did it?"

"Yeah! You were right; we receptionists do have pretty high clearance."

He smirked a little bit, and Ivy bit her bottom lip.

"So..." she started. "Do you know how to fly a plane?"

* * *

He did. They settled in the cockpit of a small, quick plane. Ivy was pleased to find that S.H.I.E.L.D. planes were equipped with in-flight wifi and calls, so should she have heard any word from Oliver, she wouldn't have missed it.

As she stared at her phone and nestled into the seat of the plane, no word came.

* * *

Oliver's glazed eyes stared at the ceiling. By this point, he was losing hope in anyone finding them. He could hardly bear to tell his peers that eighteen hours had passed since their capture.

"This is ridiculous," the young woman snarled abruptly. Oliver turned to look at her in the dim light, glad for a change in pace; her mouth was contorted into a bitter scowl, her nose upturned as she sneered.

"Well," Oliver slurred, grunting as he lifted his back off the wall and slumped against his knees. "Sorry, princess, but this isn't the Ritz."

She growled at him. "Do not talk to me in that manner."

Oliver lifted his eyebrow at her. Her light Russian accent went well with her clipped speech.

"Been living in America long?" he knew the answer to that, of course: yes. She had. It was the same fading accent one of Ivy's friends had developed when he'd moved to America from Russia. _Ivy_. He pushed the thought away.

"Impudence," the fight seemed to have melted from the young woman as she spoke wearily; she plopped back against the wall and pulled her knees to her body.

Oliver sighed.

"The time. What is the time?" she spoke again.

Oliver shrugged.

"Do not be lazy."

Oliver glared.

She glared back.

Naturally, Oliver wasn't used to this. He knew he could be rather intimidating at times, and there was only one person in the world who'd ever had the guts to stand up to him. He remembered that she'd done so when he'd tried to ask out a girl in freshman year and had nearly been rejected with the use of bad grammar.

"Just who do you think you are?" Oliver snapped.

"Katya Ivanovna Petrovich," she said with an air of arrogance. Her storm gray eyes glinted in triumph.

"Okay, cool. Oliver Bennett."

Katya's bubble burst immediately. "Did you not hear me?"

"No, I heard you just fine, princess."

"Obviously," she drawled, her voice oozing sarcasm.

"Oh, am I addressing a princess, then? I'm so _sorry_, Your Majesty. What's your kingdom? Genovia? Arendelle? You gonna shoot ice at me?" Oliver felt somewhat terrible about the way he was acting. Had one of his family members been here, she would have hit him upside the head and scolded him about his rudeness.

"Oh, you—!" Katya raised her hand and nearly clawed at his face.

"That's enough!" the father of the family grasped Katya's wrist. "Oliver, be a gentleman. Katya, don't order Oliver around."

Katya stared at Oliver like he'd grown another head. Before she could speak, however, the father interrupted.

"I suppose if we'll be here much longer, we should learn each others' names. I'm Craig Brooker. This is my wife, Laurie, and my children, Nathaniel and Blaire."

Oliver gaped at Blaire. "You're serious?"

She clung onto Nathaniel and nodded.

Oliver bit his lip. Ivy's middle name was Blaire. Of all the luck.

"And you are?" Laurie asked the man who had been brooding so quietly that Oliver had forgotten he was there.

He said nothing. Just kept glaring at the floor, twitching occasionally as his restless fingers shook and tapped at the ground.

Oliver turned away. He hit his head against the wall on which he had very maturely, very calmly called dibs. As he called for Ivy and that creepy little ESP thing that they both shared, his green eyes opened just a fraction and he saw his sister sitting in front of him, cross-legged, light-freckled, and smiling in all her pink-lipped glory.

Her smile was very cold.

* * *

**I have a plan. Don't you worry. It's just a matter of extending the plan enough so that the story won't be like, ten chapters long.**

**Another thing. I'm kinda sorta blending in the Marvel Comics, too, hence the mention of the Infinity Gems in the last chapter. I'm taking the post-credits which we got from TWS and some of the comic book plots and doing what I can before Age of Ultron comes out. When _that _happens, I may or may not take the time to edit the story to make it align with the plot. I'm also aware that my story may not be conducive to Captain America 3, but that's okay. I'll wait until Captain America 3 comes out to fix any plot holes and/or add chapters to make it work.**

**While I will be following _some _of the parts of the comics, I may or may not change the rest.**


	6. A Momentary Relapse

By the time they had landed in Moscow, nearly eleven hours had passed since they'd started their flight. Multiple times, Ivy had fallen asleep and slumped forward, hitting her head on the ghost's very uncomfortable metal arm.

She rubbed the pain on her right temple away and stretched. The ghost had managed to sneak in a landing at Domodedovo International Airport, and they quickly packed up their things and headed inside before they were caught.

"Give me the bag," the ghost said, and Ivy obliged. He dug through it and found the clothes he had been wearing when he'd met Ivy.

"Oh, look," Ivy quipped wryly. "If it isn't the abomination."

On the plane, Bucky'd been forced to switch the plane to autopilot and change into different clothes at Ivy's demand. Apparently, it had been causing _her _physical pain to look at the thick layers of his dark, imposing outfit. He'd retreated back and changed into a long-sleeved button up and boring blue jeans. Ivy had tried not to grimace at his fashion sense (or rather, lack thereof) but had been glad he was at least normal-looking.

When Ivy handed the ghost his plastic bag, she watched as he pulled a scrap of fabric out from the pants pocket of his suit. He slipped it over his arm, and with a glimmer and a couple of gold flashes, the ghost's arm turned from metal to organic as easily as Ivy could press a button on her computer keyboard and switch PowerPoint slides.

Ivy squeaked. "Wait, what?"

"My handlers thought ahead."

"Hold up. I make you change out of that grotesque outfit, and you end up putting on something else just as ridiculous?"_  
_

"Certain measures need to be taken in order to fulfill the mission."

Ivy arched an eyebrow. She couldn't say that she wasn't worried by the new way he was talking. Before her worry could grow into words, however, his brow furrowed and his eyes glinted with frustration.

"Let's go," he said gruffly, taking off at a quick pace.

"Wait a second," Ivy said, the wheels of her suitcase clacking against her heels as she ran to catch up. "Do you really need that? Everybody has prosthetic limbs."

"Most prosthetics aren't this advanced. Besides, I still have to get through metal detectors. This will hide my arm from those."

"Ah. Your handlers?"

"Yes."

"Are they seers or something?"

"No. They were simply well-prepared."

Ivy noted he'd thrown her a dirty look when she'd said "are," and he'd emphasized "were." Without a word, they continued to make their way out of the airport and walk down the street.

"Your base is in Moscow, then?"

"No. A forty-five hour drive away without sleep or any stops."

"Ugh!"

"You have no money?"

"Well, I'm sure we can go to an exchange place— hang on, is that me on TV?"

She ran to the window of an electronics store where her S.H.I.E.L.D. ID picture was blown up on the screen.

"Oi, Bucky, translate."

"Yes, ma'am." He didn't sound like he was joking. "'Twenty-seven year old S.H.I.E.L.D. employee Ivy Bennett facing charges of aiding and abetting Captain America's attacker, breaking and entering, thievery, and the kidnapping of seven American citizens, one being her own brother, Oliver Bennett.'"

"What?" Ivy could feel an asthma attack acting up. A sour taste settled on her tongue. "Oliver?"

"Oliver and six others have gone missing. They think you're the kidnapper."

Ivy swayed a little bit. "Oliver?"

"Yes."

"Missing?"

"Yes."

"Oliver?"

"Yes."

"Do you suppose he's..." _Dead?_

"Yes."

Fifteen minutes later, Bucky was checking into a hotel with a limp, unconscious Ivy slung over his shoulder. This had attracted quite a few stares; Bucky had stared down any onlookers. She had fainted not even three seconds after the ghost had confirmed that her brother was most likely dead; if not for Bucky's reflexes having been sharpened over time, Ivy would have cracked her skull open on the pavement. Thus, he had been forced to hack an ATM and take a taxi to the nearest bed and breakfast.

It was quite irritable to climb the stairs whilst carrying his bag, Ivy's bag, and Ivy herself. Then there was the issue of how to open the door. Rather than a key, they'd handed him a slim piece of plastic that quite resembled the credit card his handlers had used once or twice.

Bucky soon found himself needing one of his hands in order to decipher how to complete the daunting task which was opening the door to the hotel room. Faced with the conflict of whether to put down the bags or the sleeping girl in his arms, he draped Ivy gracelessly over her suitcase, and with a clack and a creak, the door swung open. He hauled her back up and tossed her carelessly onto the bed, sitting himself down on a chair and closing his eyes.

When Ivy woke, only half an hour had passed. She sat up groggily, her green eyes dulled by sleep.

"What the...?"

"You passed out when I told you Oliver's gone missing."

The sour taste was back, and Ivy clawed her way up to the top of the bed and fell to the pillow; her legs jerked in spasms which vaguely reminded her companion of a marionette in the hands of an inexperienced puppeteer. He smiled bitterly.

"Now what?" she whispered.

For once, she was grateful for the silence he provided.

* * *

**Katya and the Brookers are now on my profile list of OCs. Also, sorry about the short chapter.**

**Review, please!**


	7. The Man in the Corner

"Do you suppose we can find him?"

Bucky looked up from his chair. Ivy was sitting on the bed and biting her lip. The clear sky outside had faded into a dark blue, almost black. Bucky had found the color to be calming. Ivy had found it to be the color of death.

"Find him?"

"Oliver. Or Oliver's... body."

"We can give you closure, yes, but it may not be the way you want."

Ivy looked up wistfully and nodded.

"Thank you."

He looked unsettled.

"Penny for your thoughts?" Ivy asked softly.

A moment's hesitation.

"What did you find about James Buchanan Barnes?"

"What did I find out about _you_?"

"Yes."

"Well," Ivy said, propping herself up on her elbows as a thoughtful look crossed her face. "Not much. You were Captain America's best friend since childhood, and you were in a group called the Howling Commandos. At age twenty-nine, you were the only one to die out of that group. Er... supposedly."

The corners of Bucky's mouth quirked up just a little at this.

"You were a sergeant, I believe. You helped rescue your regiment, and then you fell off a train. You had shorter hair then," Ivy finished lamely.

"Is that all?"

"All I could find, sorry. We can go to the Smithsonian once we get back to DC, if you want. I'm sure it'll be much more thorough."

"Hm."

"I've got dibs on the bed, by the way."

"Okay. What are dibs?"

"Well, it's basically a way you can get what you want if someone else wants it. You can call dibs on food, a bed, a seat, a person, or even a wall. Pretty much anything."

"Why would one call dibs on a wall?"

"I don't know. It just seems like a rational option, I suppose."

Bucky chuckled. "Rational?"

"Duh."

"Well, it isn't my place to disagree with you."

Ivy furrowed her brow and tilted her head.

"What? Why not? If you think it's irrational, then you think it's irrational."

"Shouldn't I not talk back?"

"Excuse me, _sir_, I talk back to you all the time. Sorry about that, by the way. Now, I'm going to teach you how to be more fabulous. Like me!" Ivy said with a playful grin.

"Fabulous like you?" Bucky tried uncertainly. "I'm not entirely sure I understand the objective."

"I think that you need to get out more. Do they have Taco Bells in Russia?"

"Taco Bell? Do you _want _Taco Bell?" Bucky asked.

"'I can't have Taco Bell, I'm on an all-carb diet! God, Karen, you're so stupid!'"

"What?"

"Sorry, it just came to mind. Really, though, do they have Taco Bell?"

"No. I'm not sure. I haven't seen a Taco Bell."

"Oh. Well, I'm just glad you know what it is."

Bucky looked from his book to Ivy irritably.

"I am not blind. I have passed Taco Bells multiple times."

"Have you ever eaten there before?"

"I found no need."

Ivy gasped dramatically and pretended to faint. Needless to say, Bucky was terribly confused at her mood swing. She'd gone from being afraid of him to being upset by Oliver to a flamboyant character who couldn't seem to sit still.

"I really am hungry, though," Ivy said, her attitude taking on a more sober tone as she looked him in the eye. "Can you get something to eat?"

* * *

Oliver picked at his small portion of green beans, dry potato slices, and rubbery meat.

He and Katya hadn't spoken since their skirmish. Nathaniel mostly stayed by Blaire, handing her her inhaler whenever she needed it, and at least Laurie was polite enough not to look around every now and then and glare at everyone (unlike Oliver, Katya, and Nathaniel). Craig, on his part, graciously made small talk with everyone. The strange man in the corner simply kept pawing at the ground and pushing on the wall.

With a quick survey of the room, Oliver noted that everyone else (everyone but the strange man) had finished eating their food ravenously. Blaire was asleep with her head on Nathaniel's shoulder, Craig and Laurie were whispering silently to one another, and Katya was looking hollowly to her side.

"I do not..." Katya started with a laborious sigh, "I am not a princess, as I'm sure you have gathered."

Nathaniel chuckled. "Yeah, we gathered."

"What are you then?" Laurie asked curiously. "You sound important."

Katya laughed. The sound would have been sweet, had it not been so bitter. "That is a story for another day."

"If we survive that long."

All heads snapped towards the man in the corner, who had momentarily stopped his tortured writhing to look at them painfully.

Laurie's eyes hardened. "Of course we will. Don't be ridiculous."

"No. We won't."

"Shut up!" Nathaniel growled.

"You don't realize the gravity of the situation. We've been captured by Hydra."

"Hydra?" Oliver asked. "Wait, like the group on Twitter?"

"Yes, like the group on Twitter."

Uncharacteristically, Craig groaned.

"We're never getting free," Nathaniel said in horror.

"No, we're not."

"And how do you know this?" Katya snapped.

The man grimaced. "I do."

"We asked for an answer, not a 'to death do you part!'" Oliver sniped.

"Oliver," Laurie warned.

"How I know is none of your concern," the man said, ignoring Laurie altogether. His eyes narrowed sharply in Oliver's direction. He was twitching again.

With the nasty premonition that the man would soon turn to the wall and resume his deathly twisting again, Oliver cast his gaze to his small meal. His stomach rumbled, and he remembered his words to Katya only a few hours earlier: _"Sorry, princess, but this isn't the Ritz."_ With that, he pursed his lips, and he lifted a spoonful of mashed potatoes to his mouth.

* * *

Ivy relished the taste of the shawarma which Bucky had thrown on the table after a half-hour's absence (he liked to throw things, she noted). She made a memo to visit the small shawarma booth in D.C. when she made it back.

Bucky was still looking outside at the sky; its color had turned from the dark blue now to a more calming black, or at least as black as the city lights of Moscow would allow. Standing suddenly, he stepped out of the room.

Ivy raised her eyebrow. She was of half a mind to follow him, and the other half just wanted to finish her food and go to sleep. Her internal debate was interrupted when he reentered the room a short while later.

"What's that?" Ivy asked curiously as he spread a large sheet of paper over the bed and gestured for Ivy to make room.

"A map of Russia, in case we get separated. We're going here," and with that, he pointed his metal index finger at a very, very remote spot which was very, very far away from Moscow.

"That's, um... that's in the middle of nowhere."

"I know. It's still where we're going."

"Ah, okay. I guess it _is _kinda clever for Hydra to stick their lead base where nobody would ever think to look."

"It's only one of their lead bases. It just so happens to be where..."

"Where?"

"Nothing. You should sleep."

"I'm not tired." In truth, Ivy was suffering from a terrible case of jet lag and wanted nothing more than to sleep.

"Alright," he replied. He was seemingly unconvinced, but Ivy decided to let it slide.

She padded to the edge of the bed and picked the remote off the bedpost. "I think I'm going to watch the news," she said absentmindedly. "I almost forgot that I'm a wanted felon."

The TV clicked to life, and the first picture on the screen was one of the plane Ivy and Bucky had amiably borrowed with yet another caption running beneath it. She glanced at Bucky.

"'Stolen S.H.I.E.L.D. plane makes unauthorized landing in Moscow, Russia. Ivy Bennett suspected.'"

"Do they honestly think I'm some criminal mastermind?" Ivy snapped in frustration, throwing a pillow at the screen. "Because I am _really not_. And I know what you're thinking, so don't even, friend."

"I won't."

"Okay, good. Did you get shawarma for yourself?"

"No."

"Well, you need to have something sooner or later. Last time you ate was breakfast at my house, and that was almost half a day ago. I don't think you even finished your cereal."

"No."

"Alright. First thing tomorrow, then, we'll get you food."

"I don't need food."

"Yeah, you do if you wanna function properly. And it's not that hard to bite, chew, and swallow."

"No. We need to leave as soon as we can to get to the base before they are able to utilize the twins."

"If you don't eat, you'll pass out, and that'll be more of a hindrance than anything. We can get takeout, but you _are _going to eat something."

"It wouldn't be wise," Bucky said. He felt the fight start to wane from himself out of instinct; his handlers would have labeled him uncooperative, then they would put him in his chair and back into ice. However, Ivy seemed as though she wouldn't go to such extreme measures. That didn't stop him from treading cautiously.

"I really don't care whether it's wise or not. You're eating."

After a long pause, he wordlessly sighed in defeat. He didn't need to do anything more, and with a firm nod, Ivy bade him good night, and she pulled the covers over herself. She was asleep without another thought.

* * *

**I wasn't sure whether to have Bucky say "fabulous" or not, but whatever. YOLO.**

**Review, please!**


	8. Holding Out Hope

Ivy woke the next morning to find Bucky sleeping in the small armchair. He'd pulled off the sleeve he'd put on at the airport, and once again, one of the daggers which he had not given to Ivy was grasped tightly in his metal hand. As she stretched, she briefly contemplated leaving to buy him the food which he had insisted on not having. It seemed more prudent, though, to wait until he woke up; he seemed to know Russia more than she did.

As if on cue, his eyes opened slightly.

"Wakey, wakey," Ivy said dully. "You were the one who wanted to leave early. Let's go."

Wordlessly, he stood and took their bags.

"Did we forget anything?" Ivy asked.

"Not that I can see."

They checked out and headed to McDonald's at Pushkin Square. It was busier than Bucky had hoped, but he didn't argue as Ivy ordered breakfast burritos for each of them. She handed him his, and he regarded the cheesy, meaty lump with displeasure. He looked to Ivy, who was already busy with finishing hers. He took a tentative bite.

Well, at least he'd function properly once he finished it.

"I think you might need to put your sleeve thingy on," Ivy said uncertainly. "If we're going to rent a car, well, I'm a felon, so you'll have to do it."

"We're not renting a car. We're already short on cash."

Ivy arched an eyebrow and looked at him skeptically. "I'm pretty sure I know what you're thinking, and the answer is no."

"Here," he said, ignoring her as he stepped into a hardware store. He bought a flathead screwdriver and quickly located a car that looked like an older model. He jammed the head of the screwdriver into the lock as Ivy threw her hands up in the air behind him.

"I cannot believe you."

"You're already a criminal," he said, and the door opened.

"Yeah, well I'm not gonna make that statement _completely _true!"

"You've already aided and abetted me. Get in the car."

"No. It's highly immoral."

"Do you want to find Oliver or not?"

Ivy gasped, then grumbled and threw her suitcase and his plastic bag into the backseat. She stepped into the front seat and slammed the door as she crossed her arms and glared out the window. She vaguely registered him jamming the screwdriver into the key slot and wriggling it around violently, and with a purr, the engine came to life.

"Are you _really _sure you wanna go this low?" Ivy asked. Again, he ignored her and started driving.

* * *

Blaire was asleep on Nathaniel again. Oliver looked away.

"Is something wrong?" Craig spoke. Oliver shook his head. "You're sure?"

Oliver didn't respond.

"He's upset about his own sister." Katya's accented voice sliced through the air like blades, and Oliver's head snapped up like a rubber band. "I am right, aren't I?"

Strangely enough, Katya's tone wasn't patronizing or pretentious. Her eyes were empathetic, and her cheeks were sunken in understanding; enough so that Oliver managed to nod his head and turn away.

"How did you know?" his voice came out hoarsely.

"I have one of my own. I'd know that face anywhere."

"You have a sister?" Oliver asked. He didn't understand why he was so surprised; having a sibling was, after all, not uncommon. Maybe it was because Katya often acted so rashly that he couldn't imagine her taking care of a relative.

"Yes. She is only eight years of age, but we are quite close," Katya said with a fond smile. Then the smile faded, and the hollow look was back. "I hope she is safe."

"What's her name?" Laurie asked curiously.

"Vera. And yours, Oliver?"

"Ivy. She's my twin. Almost identical, but she's way tinier than I am."

"I see. Vera looks nothing like me."

Oliver chuckled. It was somewhat liberating, in a way, to speak of Ivy.

"I hope your Ivy is safe, as well," Katya said. Oliver let out a sharp laugh.

"Ivy's probably out of her mind with worry. I never go a day without calling her."

"And?" Katya smiled widely. "Do you suppose she will look for us?"

"Yeah. There's no way she won't. If she hasn't yet, she will soon, and I'll bet we're on the news by now."

"It seems a bit far-fetched that she'd come all the way to Russia," Nathaniel said dubiously.

"Yeah, but when we were really little, it was pretty much just Ivy and me," Oliver said in reminisce. "Our mom never paid much attention to us, since she was really busy with her work, and our dad was the same way. Mom would work during the day and sleep at night, and dad was opposite, so the only people we ever really interacted with were each other and our babysitter. All we really have is each other, then throw in the fact that Ivy hardly trusts government workers, it's certain that she'd come here to do the dirty work herself."

"Godspeed to Ivy, then," Katya said with a wry smirk. "We can only hold out hope that we will be found."

No sooner had she spoken the words than the heavy metal door creaked open, and three figures donned in black suits and helmets stood imposingly in the doorway. Their silhouettes were dark against the glaring light of the hall.

Before anyone could register what he was doing, one stepped in and stabbed a needle into Katya's forearm. She fell limply to the ground, the oncoming shriek crushed in her throat.

"What are you doing?" Craig asked, jumping to his feet. Everyone else was standing now, and a second guard walked to the young man.

"No," he growled, backing up. The guard grabbed his wrist. "I said no!"

His arm was a blur as he tore it out of the guard's grasp, and Oliver stumbled backwards, sure he was hallucinating. The man's twitching was becoming faster and faster, and quick as light glinting off silver, he tackled the guard to the ground.

"Hey!" the first guard who had sedated Katya immediately jumped onto the man and plucked another needle from his belt.

"Get him off me!" the second guard yowled.

"I'm trying!"

Futilely, the remaining hostages were beating at the guards and trying to pry the man away from their grasps.

The needle stabbed into the man's neck, and with a sigh of relief, the second guard scampered from under his limp body and dragged Katya out of the room, and the first followed suit with the man.

"Well, then," the third guard said with a grin. He had remained standing at the doorway, ready to catch anyone who tried to run. "That was interesting. Katya Petrovich and Peter Maximoff, huh? Didn't expect it to be that hard."

"Shut up, McDagley; you didn't do a single damn thing and you know it!" the second guard barked.

The first guard yelled at the other two in Russian, and they both scampered away, one hoisting Katya and the other staying behind as the first guard carried away the strange man—_Peter Maximoff, _Oliver thought hazily— and closed the door.

The slam resonated through the small, hollow cell like a death sentence.

* * *

**Sorry about throwing yet _another _plot twist in your face. I hope the story doesn't seem like it's going too slowly or too quickly; if it is doing either, go ahead and tell me in a PM or a review. Don't worry, my feelings won't be hurt.**

**I was having trouble in deciding whether to use Peter or Pietro, but I decided to use Peter because of Days of Future Past, even though Marvel's technically not even _supposed _to be using Quicksilver or the Scarlet Witch.**

**And, jasper29forever, if you're looking for more Bucky/OC stories, go check out The Original Three by tinseltown. Victoria is probably the cutest little thing about which you'll ever read. You can also try Sins of Our Past by cryo247, if you want a complete story.**


	9. A Flame-Haired Coin

Baron von Strucker's echoing footsteps clacked in the empty hallway.

When he'd gotten the call that they'd captured the girl, he was pleased, yes, and he'd told the workers to lock her up. She sat, dark hair mussed and pale hands a'trembling. The glimmering red dancing from her fingertips shone like a trophy, and the trophy case of its twin prize gleamed adjacent, polished and waiting and just begging to be filled.

And only one month later, it was.

As a lesser member of his organization led him through the various accomplishments since the battle at New York, his satisfaction only grew. The Tesseract glowed cerulean power in its golden and silver frame; quite the lovely sight to behold.

The waiting was nearly over; soon, the Infinity Gauntlet would be in their possession.

At last, the Hydra member stopped in front of the glass cage. The girl, now dressed in a cream nightgown, sat against the wall she shared with her brother, who seemingly had lost all control of his power. His gray hair thrashed about with his sporadic movements, and he pushed against the wall in an attempt to break through to his sister.

Quite a ruckus he had caused in the holding cell, the Baron had heard.

"...and we have one more, sir," said the worker. "She seemed the right option. Originally, we thought it would be the father, but he had too much to lose to stay loyal to us."

"Show her to me."

The worker led Strucker to a room where the smell of chemicals hung about in the air. Doctors buzzed around a woman whose striking red-bronze hair screamed its independence from the monochrome gray, black, and white of the furniture. She lay half-dead on the operating table in a plain shirt and shorts.

It was almost a shame to see so many needles and scalpels being dug into her skin, tearing out what was before and cementing inside power and finesse.

"With the asset loose, sir, we needed a... back-up plan, if you will."

Strucker had almost forgotten about the asset. As perturbed as he was that his favorite weapon had run away, he knew it was nothing that could not be fixed with time and patience.

"And the rest?"

"We can do the same for them, sir. This one, Katya Ivanovna Petrovich, was prudent as first choice."

Katya Ivanovna Petrovich. Not that it mattered; she was a weapon now, or possibly a flame-haired coin, minted fresh from the blood of freedom and inscripted at the hands of Thanos himself.

"No," Baron von Strucker said aloud. "It is a miracle. And there is nothing more horrifying than a miracle."

* * *

Four hours after the car episode, Ivy was still brooding about the fact that they had resorted to thievery. She was less vocal about it, but she was brooding nonetheless in the form of the silent treatment.

It didn't seem to bother Bucky _too _much, as he kept steering and speeding along like nobody's business.

Ivy couldn't begrudge him his driving skills. They were better than she'd have expected from somebody from the forties.

"Are we going to have lunch?" Ivy asked.

"No."

"Do we need to have another talk about eating?" Ivy said lightly. This cracked a smile from him. "No? Didn't think so. Pull over at the next town, and we can get something to eat."

"I can't be positive they'll have your McDonald's or your Taco Bell."

"That's alright. I read on my phone just now," here, Ivy briefly lifted her phone to demonstrate. "That Russia's starting to become a magnet for fast food. I think my next project's gonna be getting you to have some Burger King."

"Burger King?"

"Yeah. They have burgers."

"I gathered."

"Oh, shut up!" Ivy smacked him on his arm. The human one, of course; contrary to what he obviously believed, she wasn't stupid. "Anyway, they have some Burger Kings around here, mostly in malls, but I'm alright with other restaurants too."

"We'll see about the food establishments in the next town, but keep in mind that we are in a hurry. If there are none, you'll have no room to be picky."

"Yeah, that's okay. We need to hurry up before they can catch the twins and all that jazz."

"No, they've already caught the twins, or at least one of them. We need to get there before they can _utilize _them."

"Right, right. I thought they had both."

"Last time I saw, they only had one. The Scarlet Witch, they called her, but her alias is Wanda Maximoff."

"That sounds like a really... normal name. Not what I'd have expected from someone who could potentially destroy the world."

Bucky chuckled. "No, I suppose not."

"Wait, so what about the other twin?"

"Pietro Maximoff. Sometimes Peter, but it's Pietro. I believe Hydra likes to call him Peter."

"Again, really normal. Are they the bad guys?"

"Not necessarily. I suppose you could say that they were dealt the wrong cards."

Ivy didn't ask for him to elaborate. Instead, she asked, "Will they help us?"

"I'm not sure. They may not be the 'bad guys,' but they're not exactly rooting for us, either."

Ivy shifted uncomfortably. "Oh. So it's basically a fifty-fifty chance on whether the world gets saved or destroyed."

"In its simplest form, yes, it is. We're here."

Ivy looked out the window of their car. "So we are."

They were not at the base like she'd wanted, but rather at the next town; there was, indeed, a Burger King.

"Yes!" she cheered as Bucky parked. She scampered out of the car and practically skipped inside. "And we're _not _getting takeout, by the way."

She ordered two large burgers, one for herself and one for Bucky. Fortunately, the man working the counter didn't seem to piece together that Ivy was _the _Ivy who was on the news about 24/7 now. Apparently, only a couple of small crimes which she didn't even commit were enough to land her a spot on the worldwide wanted list.

"Eat your burger," she said, picking up her own. "It's just like eating your burrito."

Bucky hadn't liked the burrito. For Ivy to say that eating it was just the same didn't exactly help appease the notion that this burger would be just as unenjoyable. Still, if it would get them on the road sooner...

He ate it, and had to admit that it wasn't as bad as he'd expected it to be. At least he wasn't having a burrito.

Three bites into his food, Bucky heard Ivy ask, "Are you going to eat that?", and he looked up to find that she'd already finished her own burger and was now pointing at the long, gold sticks on his plate. He shook his head; he'd already tried enough today. He wasn't about to risk eating another new food.

Ivy picked up the stick and surveyed it at eye level. "So, are you going to explain the entire Captain America thing to me?"

"What?"

"I _mean_," she said, leaning forward a bit. "Why you attacked America's golden boy."

"Why are you bringing this up now?"

"I forgot about it on the plane ride, and I obviously couldn't ask you about it when we landed." Ivy winced. "But unfortunately for you, it just now crossed my mind. Care to elaborate?"

Bucky knew he shouldn't withhold information, but at the same time, he didn't want to talk about it. It must have shown on his face, because the light in Ivy's eyes changed.

"Or not. It's obviously still a sore subject. You don't have to talk about it. Do you want to?"

"No."

"Okay, then. Don't, and have a fry." She handed him the golden stick, the 'fry.' He shook his head and opened his mouth to take another bite of his burger when a noise sent adrenaline coursing through his body; Ivy had heard it too, apparently, because she froze mid-fry and turned her gaze to him.

"How?" Ivy asked as the police car pulled up.

"It seems the worker isn't as oblivious as we thought. Get down."

Sure enough, Bucky glanced at the cashier who'd taken their order, and he had obviously called the police of Ivy's and Bucky's whereabouts. He was slowly shrinking back into the kitchen; Bucky had to suppress the urge to shoot at him.

Ivy had done as she was told and was now sitting low in her seat. His metal hand reached into his pocket and slowly fingered a dagger which Ivy had not made him keep in his bag. His other hand cocked a gun hidden away in his jacket.

"Knife," he mouthed to Ivy. She didn't argue like she normally would; instead, she dipped her fingers into the holster he'd given her, and she pulled out the knife. Ivy held it awkwardly, Bucky noted. She didn't seem to be able to tell whether to keep the blade facing towards the outside or inside of her fist. He'd have to teach her about that later.

Bucky pulled off the camouflage sleeve and waited for the police to enter, and another police car pulled up. Four stepped out of the first car and into the building. Catching sight of Bucky, they yelled in Russian and pulled out their guns.

He was ready. He took down the first without any trouble, but the next three were more strategic. He vaguely noted the screaming patrons with their hands clasped over their heads, but the thrill of the fight was already sending him slashing and hacking and shooting, and the next one was subdued only ten seconds after the first.

He'd sent himself to work on the other attackers when a shriek pierced through the air, sharper than the knife he held in his hand. It was a sound Bucky had never heard before, and it was one he hoped he'd never hear again.

Ivy was in trouble.

Two of the policemen had cornered her into her booth and were waving their guns at her. Their fingers twitched over the triggers like the tails of rattlesnakes.

"Your knife, Ivy!"

Ivy had seemingly decided on holding the knife with the blade facing the outside of her fist, not unlike the way Bucky had held his own knife when he'd attacked the man on the bridge. Ivy swung the knife gracelessly at her first assailant, delivering a clean, deep slice on his chin. Only an inch lower and she would have killed him. He stumbled backwards, cupping his hands to catch the blood.

The second was more prepared. As Ivy swung again, he caught her arm and twisted it backwards, releasing a yowl from the girl. With a heavy swing, her attacker's boot swung down with a thud onto her right wrist.

Ivy didn't even have time to scream before the weight on her arm suddenly vanished. She looked up to see Bucky hoisting the man up into the air with his metal arm, ready to crush his windpipe like a paper bag.

"Bucky, stop!"

His glare was directed at her for a few breathless moments. Then, as if by a miracle, his fingers unclenched and the man crumpled to the ground. Ivy wasn't sure why; maybe it was a stroke of luck, or an instinct of his. Maybe it was another reason she couldn't possibly dream up.

Bucky grabbed Ivy's bag and fished the keys out, then all but shoved her out the door. He turned to each of the security cameras and shot at the wires which he knew would send the images to the computer for safekeeping.

The two were gone in a matter of seconds. It was as though they had never been there. For weeks after the incident, people would be wondering just _who _caused the bloodshed on that day. Was it a gang? Reckless teenagers looking to make an impression? Maybe it was something supernatural. Maybe they were ghosts.

* * *

They drove for three towns more before Bucky checked them into a hotel.

"Let me see your hand," he said when they made it up to the room, and Ivy silently held out her arm. He pulled a bandage from his vest and wrapped Ivy's wrist in it. Her pained hiss did not go unnoticed, and he stepped to the fridge and pulled out some ice.

"Hold that there," he said, "and it should heal within three days. Try to keep it elevated."

Ivy lifted her wrist and studied it with a grimace. "They... they weren't policemen, were they?"

"No. Policemen wouldn't be that violent."

"Then they were what?"

"Hydra. They came to look for me."

"And the worker?"

"Chances are he called the police, but Hydra monitors everything. He described you, and Hydra had probably heard about you on television and how you're my accomplice. It isn't that hard to piece together."

"Then why did they attack me if they're looking for you?"

"I don't know."

Ivy squirmed and gingerly rested her wrist on a pillow. "Something's not right."

"You don't say."

"Oh, shut up. Really, though, there's something _off _about this entire thing."

"How can you tell?"

"Instinct."

A raised eyebrow turned to her direction.

"Bucky, it was instinct which made me come here to Russia with you, it was instinct which told me that Oliver was in trouble, and it's instinct now that's telling me something's wrong."

"I suppose there is something wrong, but maybe we should just leave it be for now."

"Would you let weeds grow in your garden rather than laying down the mulch?"

"I don't understand the reference."

"Fine. I won't explain it. My point still stands; we should just nip this thing in the bud while we're busting out your twins and jewels."

"Ivy," Bucky said with a scowl, "we don't understand what's going on here. We could go on the aggressive, but it would be more prudent to defend. What's your instinct telling you? Is it something big, or is it something small?"

"Something big."

"Then we wait and try to find out what it is. Once we do, we can see if we can take it ourselves or if we need to..."

"To what? Enlist help? Doesn't seem your style," Ivy said with an arched eyebrow and a teasing smirk.

"Yes. _You _shouldn't be so surprised; I normally work alone, but _you're _tagging along with me."

"Well, what a wicked pair we make."

He lifted his eyebrow again in amusement. "You do realize that this incident today won't be the last?"

"Duh. I suppose I kinda signed up for it."

"And you do realize you could have been killed?"

"I noticed."

"Yes. And _I _noticed that your knife-handling skills weren't exactly—"

"Sharp?" Ivy finished, grinning proudly at her pun.

"Refined," he finished. "Guns would be rather helpful in a situation like this, as well." With that, he looked pointedly at her and watched as the realization dawned on her face.

"But—" she began to complain.

"Ivy," he said with a wry smirk, "it's time for you to learn how to fight."

* * *

**When Ivy said the weed and mulch thing, it wasn't exactly a reference, but more a gardening metaphor. Weeds generally wait underneath the soil, so if you don't _disturb _the soil and instead lay down mulch to prevent sunlight from getting through, the weeds won't pop up.**

**I feel so unprofessional throwing Katya in there like that. Oh, well. If Marvel can straight up change Quicksilver's name, I can squeeze my OC into the mid-credits scene.**

**In case my timeline was confusing (I know that for some people in the last chapter it was), I imagined that the Scarlet Witch was caught approximately a month before Quicksilver and Katya, and that was about the time of the mid-credits scene which we saw.**

**Review, please!**


	10. The Worker and the Spy

**Guest: Hey, don't you worry; I'm cool with you giving me that tip. I was a bit worried about that too and was debating whether or not to write in an explanation chapter, but I decided it would disrupt the flow(?) of the story and was planning to save it until the end. To rid you of some of the confusion, though, I've thrown it in here, and while it's not a ****_perfect _****reason at this point in the story, I'm hoping it'll ease your mind a little bit and the minds of others who questioned the same thing.**

**As for the Hydra/Thanos/Gauntlet thing, I realized that, but then I remembered that in the Avengers, S.H.I.E.L.D. was prepared for an alien attack as Nick Fury explained during the scene just before Bruce hulked out. They'd already known about the Tesseract, and after The Dark World, there's no ****_way _****they'd not know about the Aether, and so they'd keep on digging until they found out about the Infinity Gauntlet. What S.H.I.E.L.D. knows, Hydra knows, which leads you into ****_this _****chapter, which explains how ****_Bucky_**** knows. And how S.H.I.E.L.D. came to find out that the Infinity Gauntlet even existed is already planned and will be explained in a later chapter.**

**I also admit that this story is based more off the movies than the comics, so if something differs _too_ much, that's probably because I was drawing more conclusions from the movies than the comics. I've read some of the comics, but the rest are hard to get my hands on so I try my best and make do with the ones already in my library.**

**Again, I know my explanations aren't perfect, but I hope they clarify enough until it's all explained later. Thanks for your advice!**

* * *

_Russian Hydra Base— Late March 2014_

The newest Hydra member was a spindly Scottish boy who was rather ecstatic to be on Project Winter Soldier. Despite his young appearance and even younger career profile, he'd impressed Russian scientists enough to land him a spot in one of the most elite operations in the world. He'd even caught the eye of Baron von Strucker.

As clever as the new Scottish boy was, he wasn't as street smart as he could have been and was a bit too arrogant for his own good. Then there was the fact that if the Russian Hydra scientists had known how he acted whenever a pretty girl was thrown into the mixture, they wouldn't have spared him a second glance.

The scientists _didn't _know how he acted, though, so this was how he ended up proudly examining the tank which held one of the deadliest weapons in Hydra's possession.

"Looks a bit like a ghost, doesn't he?" an effeminate voice purred behind him.

The scientist whirled around to the vibrant red hair and fluttering lashes of a smiling woman. His thoughts immediately turned away from the dark blue face in the tank, and all thoughts of professionality were thrown out the window.

"Yes," he said, flattening his hair to his forehead. "He does."

"The Winter Soldier, correct?"

"Yes, ma'am," he said with a grin.

The woman raised an eyebrow and stared into the tank with a somewhat wistful look passing her face. "This is not the only asset Hydra possesses."

"No," the boy's grin was replaced with a frown. "I thought you'd know that. You _are _Hydra, right?"

The woman's face didn't betray any emotion. "Aren't we all?" she said wryly. With a relieved sigh, the boy's grin was back.

"No, it isn't our only weapon." He lightly emphasized 'our.'"The Infinity Gauntlet, too, and one of the twins."

"But I knew that."

"But you knew that," he replied smoothly.

"Tell me, just what _is _the Infinity Gauntlet? I'm afraid I was never filled in," she laughed somewhat sheepishly.

"A glove that can give its user infinite power when used with the Infinity Gems... I shouldn't even be telling you this. If the Baron—"

"I was never told because there was an incident in London which I had to investigate," she said crisply. "How many gems do we have?"

"One out of six."

"And the twins?"

"The Scarlet Witch." The boy was starting to curdle; this seemed more like an interrogation than harmless flirting.

"Her brother?"

"Peter Maximoff. We've located him in the Moscow area—"

He was cut off when the woman pulled a hypodermic needle from her lab coat belt and jammed it into his neck.

"Sorry about your job," she said with a scowl, "but if a couple of batting eyelashes are all it takes for all that information, I'm not entirely sure you deserved it."

With that, she plucked a phone from her pocket. Underneath the screen, the Stark Industries logo was emblazoned; the phone was a gift from a friend, the head of Stark Industries himself.

"Sir," she said. "They know more than we hoped. The twins, the Gauntlet... almost everything."

The redheaded woman walked away with the phone still held to her ear. Neither she nor the scientist, who had mysteriously been found dead in his home three days later, realized that the sleeping ghost with his heightened senses could hear every word they said.

* * *

Ivy was a rather grouchy riser, Bucky noted.

He'd shaken her awake the next morning, and she'd smacked his metal arm with her good wrist. That had startled her awake, and she'd stomped complaining into the shower. She'd been upset ever since.

They headed down to an abandoned car garage. Bucky cleared the space of any debris and gave Ivy back her knife to which she arched an eyebrow.

"Shouldn't you teach me how to aim and shoot?"

"That's harder."

"I wouldn't think so."

"Well, either way, you have a better build for knife-throwing and fighting. We should focus on that," he decided. "Now, you have a hurt wrist, so you'll be out for three days. We'll probably stay at this hotel for a little under a week to give you enough time to learn the basics."

"None of the fancy parkour stuff."

"No. You should manage just fine with two knives and your feet. Of course you can embellish your fighting style a little bit, but I'm only going to teach you martial arts and knife combat."

"I'm seriously not going to learn how to shoot a gun?"

"If we get there," he said, "then we'll touch on it. Do you know any hand-to-hand combat?"

"Oliver does, and he taught me a couple of moves," Ivy said weakly. "And when I was ten, my mom enrolled me in a tae kwon do class. I only got to blue stripe before another girl named Eloise Lekrillane started calling me tae kwon dork, so mom pulled me out."

"Show me."

And so that was how Ivy and Bucky spent the better part of their day, with Bucky as a somewhat impatient teacher and Ivy making the occasional snappish comment or pun. Ivy was mercifully a quick learner, and Bucky couldn't fathom why her classmates would have called her derogatory names; for a beginner, she wasn't doing badly. In fact, with her sprained wrist taken into consideration, she was doing very well.

"You'll have to compensate for your wrist," he mused at one point. "Try using it that arm more as a balance."

"But it'll heal in three days."

"We could be attacked at any moment, so you need to be prepared."

And so Ivy did as he said and swung her right wrist around in a windmill motion, allowing her left hand to follow through with the knife in a move not dissimilar to Michael Jackson in Thriller.

When Bucky's left arm flew up to block the knife, a resounding clang accompanied his lips quirking up in a small smile. "Good. Again."

They repeated the action, and each time, Ivy was greeted with an, "Again." Soon enough, Ivy's left forearm was starting to turn red from each time Bucky blocked her swings, and the pain was overshadowed by the pride she felt as his smile slowly and uncharacteristically grew.

But Ivy was starting to become annoyed. The tedious, repetitive movement was starting to make her arms ache as she swung over and over again. Finally, she snapped.

Rather than swiping at Bucky with her knife, her right arm swung and she used the momentum to swing her left foot around and into his shin. His momentary surprise let her push him with her good arm as he staggered backwards a bit, and despite the influidity of her unexpected attack, he looked up at her with pleasure.

Ivy knew she wouldn't be able to overpower him if she hadn't kicked him in the shin, but excitement still bubbled up inside her as she hopped up and down on the balls of her feet.

"Sorry if I hurt your leg, but was that one okay?"

"Yes," he said. The mask was back, but Ivy could still see the satisfaction in his gaze. "Do you think you're ready to spar?"

Ivy's green eyes widened. "No, I'm pretty sure I just got lucky."

"While that may be the case, it was a good move nonetheless. You'll need to practice it."

So they spent the rest of the day sparring. Ivy had the sneaking suspicion he was going _very _easy on her, but she was having enough trouble as it was and didn't complain. As the sun started to set, Bucky announced that it was time to head back. They took the car back to the hotel, and Ivy immediately headed to the fridge and collected some ice for her wrist.

"Who's got dibs on the bed tonight?"

"You have a hurt wrist. You do."

"Okie dokie."

"Go to sleep now," Bucky said. "We'll be practicing again tomorrow."

"Hm..." Ivy lifted a finger to her chin and pretended to think. "I don't think I'm all that tired. How about you get some food?"

"Food?" Bucky asked skeptically. "Don't you remember what happened last time?"

"Relax! It's a small town, just head out, wear a scarf around your mouth, and you'll be good to go."

It didn't seem like a foolproof plan to Bucky, but Ivy seemed confident, and that was reason enough for him to go. He wrapped a scarf around his face, and with a halfhearted glare thrown Ivy's way, he was out the door.

"Get enough for breakfast tomorrow!" Ivy called as he headed out.

He wasn't back fifteen minutes later, and Ivy bit her thumbnail as she stared down her cell phone sitting on the table. After a brief moment of hesitation, she picked it up and dialed Oliver's number for the first time since she left D.C.

There was no reply.

* * *

"We're doomed!" Laurie wailed. "Peter was right; we'll never get out of this alive! He's probably already dead! Katya's probably already dead!"

"Laurie, please! You'll wake Blaire!" Craig cried in an effort to calm his wife. Oliver had to admit that Laurie was being childish. Even Ivy wouldn't act this way, and Ivy could become very immature when she was upset.

"Mom, maybe they're just setting them free," Nathaniel said weakly.

"No!" Laurie shrieked again. "They're dead! They were so young!"

"With all due respect, Miss Brooker, you need to shut the hell up," Oliver said as politely as he could.

Laurie turned a furious shade of red, and, completely unfazed, Oliver arched an eyebrow at her. Finally, Laurie leaned against the wall and sighed as she rubbed her temples.

Oliver nodded once and turned his attention back to his thinking. As much as he missed the presence of Katya and even Peter, whose name he didn't even know up until a few hours ago, he knew that panicking would not help matters. He dealt with his worries in different ways, like trying to figure out a way to call Ivy before they ended up next.

He had no doubt in his mind that Katya and Peter were either dead or seriously injured. What he couldn't get out of his head, though, was the way Peter had turned to a blur as the guard grabbed his arm. There was no way he wasn't imagining _that_._  
_

Then again, why was it not a possibility? Only last year, some guy with a green cape decided to try and take over the world with an alien invasion worthy of a superhero movie. Super speed wasn't exactly too far-fetched, especially with the Thor incident in London thrown into the picture.

If that was the case and Peter actually did have superpowers (Oliver still felt ridiculous thinking about it), then that changed Oliver's ideas as to what could have happened to Katya and Peter. Of course their captors would want to find extraordinary people. But then wouldn't that mean that Katya was special, too?

A headache was starting to make itself known, and Oliver pinched the bridge of his nose. A sharp, accented voice seemed to echo around the small cell, telling the hostages to hold out hope.

_Well, princess, _Oliver thought bitterly. _Looks to me like it's time to give up._

* * *

**Oliver must seem pretty rude. Oh, well. I'd be rude, too, if I was trapped in a Russian holding cell and just waiting out my slow, painful death.**

**Thanks for reading, and review!**


	11. Relive Death

Ivy made sure to wake before Bucky; she didn't want to repeat hitting his arm and nearly injuring her good hand.

Waking early did have its cons, though. One was that it was darker, and as she went to open the curtain and let a little bit of light in, she tripped over Bucky's sleeping figure. He opened one eye and scowled, then closed it again, sending a clear message that screamed, "Let me sleep!"

Ivy stopped dead in her tracks and went back to her bed; no way she would open the curtain and let him wake up completely. She wanted a _pleasant _lesson that day, not one with a tired, moody, and overall impatient teacher.

So with it settled that Ivy would _not _be going back to sleep and would _not _be leaving the comfort and safety of her bed, she nestled into her comforter and rested her arm atop her head. She bounced impatiently; she was never really one to sit still.

At last, he woke, and he had barely finished getting ready before she grabbed his hand and dragged him to the warehouse to practice.

"Have you figured out which grip you like better?" he asked her. The previous day, he'd shown her two different ways to hold the knife: a reverse grip and a forward grip. The forward grip was held more like a sword, while the reverse grip resembled the way one would hold the pole of a butter churn.

"Reverse," Ivy replied.

"Alright. I'll teach you reverse grips, then I'll teach you forward."

Bucky pulled out his own knife and held it in a reverse grip. "Do what I do. This is edge out, meaning the blade will be facing downwards and the sharp edge will be away from your body."

"Okay," Ivy uncertainly mimicked his stance and held the knife as he did. "Now what?"

"The advantages are that it is a secure grip, and that more power can be applied to the knife. Another is that you can defend yourself by bringing your forearm across your body and bending the knife so the blade faces the opposing force." He demonstrated, and again, Ivy attempted the handling.

"You're doing it right," Bucky said. "Try it a little more quickly. Block my arm." He gently swung his metal arm downwards, giving Ivy enough time to block it by holding her forearm above her head and tilting the knife so the blade faced upwards; if an enemy attacked, he would have been cut.

They continued the exercise a few more times, Bucky applying slightly more force with each swing. "Good," he said, nodding in approval. "Now, the issue with this and other reverse grips is that it is limited reach. You need to be at a closer range with your enemy to get any attacks in."

"And I'm smaller," Ivy stated.

"Yes. This is an especially large problem for you because you're smaller. You're smaller, you need to be quicker, you need to have longer reach, and the last two you have not accomplished yet."

"Okay, and I'm assuming I'll need to fix that before we get your jewels."

"Fix it as best you can; we don't have a long recess before we need to leave. I'll show you edge in, now. Flip your knife so the sharp end is facing you and the point is down. This is still a reverse grip."

Ivy winced as she did what she was told. "I don't know; it doesn't seem safe to me."

"No, and I wouldn't suggest it. It's better you learn, though, in case you want to attack in a clawing motion or more efficiently subdue enemies behind or beside."

"Oh, okay! I suppose that makes sense now."

"Yes. Now claw at my arm edge in."

"You're not a training dummy, Bucky," Ivy said with a scowl.

"My metal arm. It won't hurt unless I want it to."

"I _could _end up cutting the metal or a wire, and then we'd both end up useless."

"No. Nothing can pierce my arm; I've learned that from experience. Now, attack me."

Ivy was convinced to do so by the determination in her friend's voice. "God," she snarled. "I think I like edge out better."

Bucky chuckled. "I do too. Remember reverse grips are best for brute force and when you can get closer to your enemy without being hurt. I'll show you a forward grip."

So for the rest of the day, Bucky would show Ivy how to throw knives and how to hold the knives best for her stature. Ivy _was _a bit impatient to learn how to use a gun ("Why the hell are we using blades if guns are available?"), and Bucky would always respond on a line between patient and snappish ("Sometimes the enemy might be too close for a gun, Ivy, and the knives will give you an advantage in hand-to-hand combat").

Finally, Bucky decided it was time to show Ivy how to shoot. This later proved to be a terrible idea, because Ivy wasted half his bullets and hit the target not more than three times. Bucky scowled, but didn't dare to say anything until her fortieth or fiftieth shot.

"Well, at least you learned how to load a gun."

And with that, it was back to knives.

* * *

It was Craig who was next.

Laurie cried.

Nathaniel screamed.

Blaire stayed silent.

It could have been Oliver. It _would _have been Oliver; the boy saw the guard's eyes flicker to him, and Craig did too. Why else would he have gripped Oliver's arm and shoved him back into the wall? Oliver watched from his spot in the corner, wide-eyed as he relived the death of _Katya_, the death of _Peter_..._  
_

...the death of _Craig_...

Oliver felt comatose after the needle pierced Craig's arm. All he could do from there was curl into a ball an whimper. Over and over he watched as the guards dragged him away in silence, as his mouth hung limply open, as his eyes stared into nothing.

But it wasn't Craig he kept seeing.

It was himself.

* * *

**Ugh. Filler chapter. Talk about writers block.**

**THE AOU TRAILER OHMYGODOHMYGODOHMYGODOHMYGODOHMYGODOOFJODOFJA;WEK**


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